


Invictus

by DayOfTheBethan



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of brainwashing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayOfTheBethan/pseuds/DayOfTheBethan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the aftermath of Loki all gets a little too much for Clint.<br/>'I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invictus

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own either The Avengers, or the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley.  
> I don't even know where this idea came from.  
> It's un beta'ed, because the longer I take to look over things, the less likely it is I will post it. And I like this too much to not post it. It's short.

_I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul_.

Every SHIELD agent had some lines of doggerel, something to fall back on when name and rank and social security wasn't enough. Some chose nursery rhymes, others wedding vows or psalms from the Bible. The more obscure choices were generally found in younger agents – Coulson will never forget the day one junior told him his 'saving grace' was chat speech abbreviations.

Clint Barton's consists of just two lines. “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.” They had saved his life more times than he cared to count – Budapest, Russia, Indonesia. A particularly scary time in China. It's only after the whole Loki débâcle that Clint really appreciates those words. He has a vague memory – not even a memory, a feeling – of screaming them in the back of his head as he follows Loki, as he carries out the attack on the Helicarrier. After his 'cognitive recalibration', Clint doesn't have chance to reflect on his time spent brainwashed. He is thrust straight into battle, and is intensely thankful for this.

After, after shawarma and after the post-battle debrief and the post-battle shower – the latter more pleasurable than the former – only then can Clint really come to terms with it all. He retreats to some remote part of the world with Natasha and a still-healing Coulson. He wakes up every night with a scream stuck in his throat. He wanders around the cabin for a week or more, trying to not think. He forgets the two lines that have been the second most important thing to him since the age of 18.

Natasha stages an intervention once she realises just how bad things have got in Clint's head. He's out by the tree they all use for target practise – bark scarred and pitted from arrows and bullets fired over a long time. This cabin has been their getaway from the world for quite some time. The steady _thrum_ of arrows had been going for a good half hour when suddenly, it stops. Normally this wouldn't bother Natasha – she'd assume he was fetching his arrows back, or was simply done for the day. This is what she assumes at first, before she hears a faint sob, strangled as though someone was trying to hold it back.

Contrary to popular belief, Natasha isn't the cold hearted woman everyone thinks she is. She has a surprisingly large capacity for care and love, and part of this is taken up by Clint. Natasha will never forget the day when he made a different call. She stands and grabs the throw from the back of the sofa, wrapping it around herself as she goes outside, gingerly peering round the corner. The poor abused tree is feathered with arrows and Clint is crouched on the floor,one hand holding his bow with a white-knuckled grip, the other pressed on the ground to give himself some balance.

“Clint?” Natasha asked carefully, repeating herself when he doesn't give any indication of having heard her. “Barton.” she says more firmly after the third time of no response to his first name. This gets the required effect, and Clint raises his head, looking at her as though she is miles away.

“Tash...it wont stop.”

“What won't?” she kneels down next to him and curls her hand around the one on his bow, slowly loosening his grip.

“I can't stop thinking about the Helicarrier, about what I did. About Phil. Every time I see him...I can't do it, Tash.”

“Clint, look at me.” Natasha waits until Clint lifts his head again before she carries on. “It wasn't you. Okay? Loki hurt Phil, Loki orchestrated the attack. You _missed_ , did you know that? You fired at Maria, but you missed. I've never seen you miss a shot in all the years I've known you. _You_ were still in there, you knew what to do to stop it becoming a full blown massacre.”

Natasha finally managed to prise his fingers off his bow, placing the weapon a safe distance away and taking both hands in hers. “Clint. What do you say when it all becomes to much?”

“What?” He looks at her, confused, blinking back a couple of tears.

“When you get caught.” Natasha elaborates. “When name and rank isn't enough. What do you say?”

It takes Clint a minute or two to realise what she means, but then he says quietly “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.”

“Exactly. You. No one else. Not Loki, not SHIELD, not even me. You.”

Clint nods slowly, looking up over Natasha's shoulder.

“Phil.” he says with slight surprise. The older man had been confined to bed two days before when he'd managed to pull open the stitches in his chest.

“It's my own stupid fault I got hurt. Why I thought taking on a Norse God was a good idea, I don't know.” he gives a small, embarrassed smile.

Clint laughs slightly, and Phil and Natasha both grin with him. They hadn't heard his laugh for far too long.

“Come on. Come back inside.” Natasha pulls Clint up and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

That night, when he wakes up with a scream stuck in his throat, Natasha is there curled up beside him, ready with soft words and a reminder that Loki is back on Asgard.

The three return to New York a few weeks later. A scar left on Phil's chest all the reminder of the knife that technically killed him, the familiar glint of humour back in Clint's eye. They move into Stark Tower, now unofficially renamed Avengers Tower. Each member of the team has their own section of the building. Natasha's is all minimalist furniture with plenty of soft cushions. There is also a ballet barre with sprung floor and mirror, JARVIS loaded with music to dance to.

Phil's is comfy, with armchairs perfect for curling up in to read a book.

Clint's is high ceilings with targets in impossible places, and entrance to the ducts that go all around the building. On the wall, courtesy of Steve (idea from Natasha), he has a permanent reminder that he is the master of his fate and the captain of his soul.


End file.
